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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23222884">Claw Hammer Coat</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FicLogia/pseuds/FicLogia'>FicLogia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt Derek, Hurt!Derek, Hurt/Comfort, Let me know if I forgot to tag something, M/M, Protective Stiles Stilinski, Self-Harm, Stilinski Family Feels</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:27:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,067</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23222884</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FicLogia/pseuds/FicLogia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek holds Boyd. He holds Erica. He holds Laura. He holds his family. He holds Paige. One quick snick. </p><p>His claws, there’s too much red. Something breaks. </p><p>- - - </p><p>Based on the wonderful work of @benaya-trash</p><p>Trigger warning: This work strongly features self-harm.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>231</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Claw Hammer Coat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benaya/gifts">Benaya</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Something breaks. </p><p>Two strays wander into their woods. </p><p>They’re just kids. Young, too young to be running around the preserve, bite marks on their arms, alone and afraid. Desperate.</p><p>Isaac finds them, he’s the one who brings them to the rebuilt Hale house, three pairs of footsteps tracking mud all over Derek’s kitchen. </p><p>Derek was out with Scott and Stiles, so the three of them arrive together after Scott gets Isaac’s call. </p><p>Derek takes one look and he already knows it’s bad. The boys are hopeful, which makes it worse. They call Deaton. Stiles tries to distract the children. Then one of the boys, the taller one, starts coughing blood. Soon after, the smaller one follows. </p><p>Derek knows then, there’s nothing else to do but.</p><p>He looks at Scott, at the split-second panic and loss in the young alpha’s eyes, and he accepts that he will be the one to do it.</p><p>Derek carries the boys to a separate room, calmly, gently. Scott tries to protest, but Derek assures him, this is one thing he doesn’t want to learn. “I’ve done it before. I know how it feels.” To take an innocent life, to earn your blue eyes. “No reason for anyone else to go through it.”</p><p>Stiles tries to stop him. They’re still just on the cusp of being something, but they know each other well enough for those amber eyes to fill with concern for a not-quite lover. Derek smiles a sad smile, tells Stiles it’s fine. He can deal with it. He has. </p><p>He does. </p><p>Soft. Such soft necks. One quick snick, blood overflowing, neverending. Derek holds them through the fear, through the slowing of their hearts. Derek holds them. </p><p>Derek holds Boyd. He holds Erica. He holds Laura, his family, Paige. One quick snick. </p><p> </p><p>His claws, there’s too much red.</p><p>Something breaks. </p><p> </p><p>- - - </p><p>Those on the path to healing are that much closer to breaking.</p><p>They should have known, Stiles should have <em> known</em>. When Derek walked out of that room composed and too calm for someone carrying the bodies of two dead children. When Derek stared off, last to leave the funeral the pack arranged in a hurry. When Derek recovered too quickly. </p><p>But they didn’t. Know any better, that is. They took Derek’s progress and enduring emotional strength for granted. They got used to his role as pack mentor and assumed that’s what he will always be — the needed, not the needing. </p><p>So when the day came for roles reversing, they weren’t ready. <em> Stiles </em> wasn’t ready. </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p>“Derek!” Stiles called, kicking the front door shut behind him, his hands full with bags of expensive popcorn and fancy soda.</p><p>“Ready or not, we’re bingeing all of MCU’s mighty Thor. I even got that fancy popcorn you like. ‘Cause I know you’re precious like that,” he finishes under his breath. </p><p>Derek is usually at the door by the time anyone’s parked on his driveway. But since Stiles started coming around more often and the two of them began not-dating, Derek’s let his guard down. It wasn’t that odd anymore for Stiles to get in the new Hale House on his own, Derek busy somewhere else. </p><p>Sometimes he gets carried away with his beard grooming. It is the most ridiculous yet endearing thing Stiles has found out about the ‘wolf, and he loves catching him off-guard in the middle of it. </p><p>So Stiles drops the snacks on the kitchen counter and kicks off his shoes. He tiptoes his way up the stairs, trying to stop from grinning. He’s debating between screeching or shouting something obscene to spook Derek when he reaches the second floor and—</p><p> </p><p>He stares down the hallway, mischief slipping from his mind and stomach falling from something he couldn’t put his finger on. Something is off. Something is <em> wrong</em>. He just can’t pinpoint what it is, and then he could. </p><p>It’s metal, the sharp tang of metal in the air. </p><p>“Derek?” He calls again, worry in his voice. </p><p>No answer. </p><p>Stiles starts walking towards the bathroom, unsure why his heart is racing but his mind isn’t yelling ‘danger, danger, danger.’ </p><p>“Der, you in there?”</p><p>Stiles reaches the bathroom door. He twists the knob, pushes the door open, and then. </p><p>“Derek!”</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p>It started small, an itch that ran along his nail bed, the ghost of unbearable softness on his skin. It follows, haunts him all the way in his dreams, images of Erica’s blonde hair streaked with mud and blood, Boyd’s hand around his wrist as his fingers disappear on his chest, Laura’s torso halved and dusted with wolfsbane and earth. </p><p>Sometimes the softness follows all the way to his childhood home forever in flames, to the sound of his youngest brother’s cries as the fire takes him alive, to the press of Paige’s lips on his neck, an absent smile wet and sticky with black, poisoned blood. </p><p>Derek wakes up in cold sweat one evening. The clock reads 3 am. His fingers are on his lips, taste of metal on his tongue, he’d been biting his nails bloody. On the edge of his consciousness, there’s a glimpse of light that unsettles the back of his spine. His teeth catches on skin again, and there it is, a trickle of relief. </p><p>He pauses, ponders, and then he bites again. A trickle more. Bite. More. Bite. More. </p><p>That first night he spends biting his fingers bloody. Until relief has trickled back into his senses, enough to soothe the daunting softness that never leaves. </p><p>Then he does it again the next night, and the next, and the next. Soon, the nail biting isn’t enough. Sooner, he realizes what would be. </p><p>The nail biting, he hides it from the pack, hides it from Stiles. By the time morning comes, his fingers have healed and his sheets fresh and clean from the dryer. </p><p>The first time he popped a claw, he made the mistake of doing it on his bed. There was...more blood than he’d expected. Isaac almost found out. </p><p>After that, Derek knew better and went to the bathroom once his fingers started itching with the need. One claw became two, became four— It doesn’t matter. He still hides it from the pack well. </p><p>On a good day, it’s hard for Derek to wait until the early hours of the morning before he went to the bathroom and popped a claw, or two out. After a really good day like the other day, with the pack coming together and Stiles warm and happy by his side, Derek just couldn’t wait until he had to wake up from a nightmare anymore. </p><p>There’s too much softness. Too much.<em> Too. Much. </em> </p><p>The sun is out, but the pack is busy. The house is quiet. He goes to the bathroom, sits on the floor trying to remember how to breathe. Trying to remember when he forgot to breathe. But the noises, they’re too loud, the softness—</p><p> </p><p><em> Erica’s long blonde hair, </em>“I’m sorry.”</p><p><em> Boyd’s broad chest, trusting, </em>“I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>There is pain. There is blood. But blood that is his, so it doesn’t matter. He just, he has to get rid of the softness, the others’ blood, the sharp, sharp claws. </p><p> </p><p><em> Laura, his beautiful sister, halved, abandoned, </em>“I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>He just has to get rid of it. He has to repent. </p><p> </p><p><em> His childhood home, the flames, his family, his youngest brother, </em> “I’m sorry.”</p><p><em> Paige’s lips on his neck, her poisoned, absent smile, </em>“I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>He begs and he begs, ripping off one claw after another, drawing it out, making it count. He begs and grasps for relief, fleeting as it may be with every <em> drip drop </em> of his bleeding finger tips. He forgets. </p><p>He forgets about Stiles and his proclivity for being in the wrong place at the right time. He forgets about the movie marathon and the not-date Stiles set up for them for the day. He forgets about Stiles. But even in the face of storm riders, Stiles has always refused to be forgotten. </p><p>Derek’s bathroom door swings open. </p><p>“Derek!” </p><p><em> He knows, </em> Derek’s mind supplies. Through the fog of guilt and memories and desperate relief, <em> he knows, </em>something in him whispers.</p><p>And then there is shame. </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p>It takes Stiles a second to understand what he’s seeing. </p><p>Derek is on the floor. </p><p>Derek is on the floor, and he is bleeding from his...his fingers...they are- Stiles can’t- </p><p>Derek is on his bathroom floor, on his knees, bloodied hands to his chest, claws scattered all around. Because he ripped his own claws out from their nail beds, and now he’s on his bathroom floor crying. </p><p>Derek looks up at him. Derek looks caught. His lips part and Derek sobs, “I’m sorry.” </p><p>Stiles springs into action. He falls on his knees beside Derek, pulling the bigger man in his arms. </p><p>Derek just keeps saying “I’m sorry” over and over again. Whether he’s apologizing to Stiles or some ghost from the past, Stiles doesn’t know. He doesn’t  think Derek knows either. And thinking that only makes his heart break that much more, so he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls Derek closer. All thought of movies and popcorn and couch-cuddling gone, he wraps his arms around his ‘wolf and holds him impossibly tighter. </p><p>Derek doesn’t fight it. He brings his arms around Stiles’ warm body pulled tight against his, and despite the pain, despite the fear of staining Stiles with his problems, with his ever present brokenness, with the literal blood on hands, Derek clings to him. He holds on just as tightly.</p><p>He doesn’t stop saying, “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Stiles doesn’t stop embracing him. </p><p>He keeps embracing him until the blood dries. Until Derek’s breaths even out. Until Derek heals. Some. </p><p> </p><p>- - - </p><p>Once he can trust that Derek’s coherent enough, Stiles lets go. Just a little, just for a while. He leans back, taking a good look at Derek. </p><p>He wraps his broad hands securely around Derek’s, and carefully, oh so carefully brings them up to his lips, eyes never leaving Derek’s teary gaze as he gives Derek’s knuckles a kiss. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Derek mutters again. </p><p>“Shhh…” Stiles interjects, reaching a hand up to Derek’s face and wiping his tears away. Then he pulls Derek back in by the nape, pulls him close until their foreheads rest on each other’s. “They wouldn’t want this.” He brings Derek’s hands to his chest, holds them with a tender firmness, “They wouldn’t want you hurting like this.” </p><p>Derek’s breath catches as Stiles’ heart refuses to skip a beat. Stiles pushes through. </p><p>“C’mon.”</p><p>He pulls Derek up, the usually tense wolf pliant, weight leaning almost entirely on Stiles, and he leads them to Derek’s bed. </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p>He sits Derek down on the bed and gets a damp cloth. Then he kneels in front of Derek, takes those hands back and carefully, thoroughly wipes the blood away. </p><p>Derek stays quiet, watching Stiles with hollow, tear-filled eyes. He watches him get rid of the reddened damp cloth, Derek’s hands now rid of dried blood. He watches him get a jumper for Derek, and a shirt for himself. He watches Stiles undress, like it’s nothing, like this vulnerability was just something he did in front of Derek, like his place has always been where Derek needed him most. He watches Stiles, looking up into those amber eyes like they’re a revelation as Stiles helps him out of his ruined henley and into his favorite soft, gray sweater. </p><p>And when he can’t watch Stiles anymore, when they get settled in bed, Stiles curled around him like he’s trying to protect him from all the haunting feelings that’s plagued him his entire life, Derek closes his eyes, grasps Stiles’ hand resting on his chest, and he listens to their hearts beating in sync together. </p><p>He’s right on the edges of sleep when he catches the feel of a butterfly kiss brush against his skin. </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p>Warm hands. </p><p>Derek wakes up to warm hands. Not his, somebody else’s, somebody familiar, and safe, and has their long fingers tangled with his own. </p><p>Derek opens his eyes, and his first thought is, <em> he stayed</em>. </p><p>In his life, for one reason or another, he has always been left behind. By Paige, his family, Kate, Laura, his old pack, his new pack. Stiles…</p><p>When Jackson tried to kill him as a Kanima, when he got shot by Kate, when he killed Boyd, when he was left behind at the hospital, and more, and more. Stiles has always stayed, and more. </p><p>So it should be no surprise that Stiles stayed the night, holding his hand, sighing his name. It should be no surprise, but the sight of Stiles’ peaceful face and the sound of his soft snores still has Derek’s heart skipping a beat. </p><p>He dares not to make a sound, dares not to hope for more, which Stiles will undoubtedly give. But even Derek, damaged, selfless, hopeless as he is, even he has his moments of greed, of being helpless in the face of something he wants and needs. </p><p>He runs circles on the back of Stiles hand, back and forth on the two small moles that dot the pale, porcelain skin. He burrows closer.</p><p> </p><p>- - - </p><p>They’re in the kitchen. Derek’s sitting on a bar stool by the counter while Stiles busies himself with late lunch preparations.</p><p>Derek’s hands have long healed, but the itch is still there, the unbearable softness still follows. He thinks it’ll stay there for a while. But it’s okay, because at least for now, Stiles was right there with him. </p><p>As if reading his mind, Stiles turns away from the stove to face him. He covers the pans and makes his way to Derek, swinging the other man around before settling in between the v of Derek’s legs. </p><p>It should be charged, should be a tease of something else. Instead, it maintains the delicate balance of intimate and innocent. </p><p>Stiles takes Derek’s hand in both of his, brings it up to his lips to kiss those healed finger tips. Then he smiles at Derek with that smile, that smile that exudes fondness born of a breathtaking outpour of emotion, of affection. </p><p>If a smile became words, they both knew what that smile would say. Derek, and thankfully Stiles, knew that Derek wasn’t ready to hear it. And so, Stiles settles for a smile. </p><p>He smiles and brings one hand to caress at Derek’s stubbled cheek, to cup so he could lovingly look at those hazel eyes. </p><p>“I’m here,” he reminds. </p><p>He places Derek’s hand over his heart. “I will stay.”</p><p>He pulls Derek to him, wraps Derek’s arms around his waist, rests his own over Derek’s shoulders. He kisses him on the forehead.</p><p>“For you, Derek,” his hands fiddle with the hair on Derek’s nape. “I’ll always stay,” he promises. </p><p> </p><p>- - - </p><p>Stiles doesn’t stay, not at the Hale House, not right away. But he does stay by Derek’s side. He holds Derek’s hand and never lets go, bringing him anywhere and everywhere. To Scott’s. To the supermarket. To the car mechanic that he hates. To his dad’s. </p><p>They’re over for dinner for the second time in a week. Stiles is in the kitchen watching Derek in their backyard talking with Scott and Melissa about building a greenhouse for the Sheriff or something like that, when his dad approaches him, a knowing look in his eyes. </p><p>“What?” Stiles asks, not meaning to sound as defensive as he just did. </p><p>John smirks at him. </p><p>“I’m not blind, you know.” The Sheriff stands beside his son, leaning back on the counter and sharing the view. “None of us are, not about this.”</p><p>His dad’s always had the talent of making him feel exposed. “Yeah?” Stiles finds himself folding his arms, a habit he picked up from his dad.</p><p>“Well, maybe Scott took a little longer.”</p><p>They laugh. The wolves outside give them a glance, before Melissa distracts them again. The Sheriff doesn’t say anything more, waiting Stiles out. </p><p>Stiles gets a good look at his father. “You’re not worried he’ll hurt me,” he states more than asks.</p><p>John just keeps looking outside. </p><p>“You’re worried I might hurt him,” Stiles realizes. “Dad-”</p><p>“Stiles.” This time, John turns to face his kid, all grown, characteristically fallen in a not-so-easy love. ”I raised you, I trust you. You know that.”</p><p>Then he sighs, pursing his lips, careful about his next words. “You’re not the only one who can see the cuts around his nails. And!” John raises his hand, stopping whatever Stiles was about to say. “You will try. I know you’ll try to help him, to be good for him. And maybe you’ll do most of it right.” Knowing Stiles, he doesn’t doubt that he probably will. </p><p>“But, at some point, you’re going to make a mistake. Not because you’re bad, just because you’re human. You’re going to fall short. You’re going to hurt him. When you do, you might even break him.” For this part, John makes sure to look Stiles square in the eyes. </p><p>“Are you ready for that? To stay even after that?”</p><p>To his credit, Stiles looks right back at him. “I am.” </p><p>John looks at his son a second longer. Finally, he breaks their stare off, bowing his head with a satisfied defeated grin. “Alright.” </p><p>With that he goes to leave his son to be a creeper on his own, giving Stiles the old pat on the shoulder. “Just be happy, both of you.”</p><p>Stiles watches his dad leave the kitchen, then he brings his gaze back to his grumpy wolf playing with dirt outside.</p><p>“We will.”</p><p> </p><p>- - - </p><p>Later that night, Derek sleeps with Stiles in his childhood bedroom. After-dinner coffee plus monopoly ran late so the Sheriff insisted they just stay the night. </p><p>Stiles’ bed isn’t small, but it is narrow, their bodies lying closely together, the heat of Stiles’ torso almost enough to stir want of something more from Derek. Almost, but not quite.</p><p>Stiles twists in his sleep, scooting impossibly closer to Derek. He buries his face to Derek’s back and wraps welcome arms around Derek’s waist, hands wandering until Derek finally catches them in his. </p><p>The itch is slowly fading away, that unbearable softness that’s plagued him since Paige slowly being forgotten. Now, most of the day, most of the time, all Derek can think about, all he can yearn for are the feel of Stiles’ hands. </p><p><em>Big, skinny, rough with callous. </em> </p><p><em> Warm, strong, his. </em> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This work is based on the wonderful claw reaping au of @benaya-trash. Check it out here: https://benaya-trash.tumblr.com/post/612412412718694400/derek-kept-ripping-his-claws-out-after-boyd-died</p></blockquote></div></div>
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